There exists a certain spectrum within the realm of both speech and thought. On one side of the spectrum, a person finds himself or herself at a loss for words, either because one cannot excavate his or her mind for the appropriate diction, or because a state of shock has overcome a person, rendering him or her speechless. At the other extreme lies a situation in which one has a terrible surplus of words, thoughts, and feelings to express, but this overabundance is so vast that one cannot channel the entirety of each sensation into concrete thought or on to pen and paper before being pushed to describe the next emotion. As I sit here and write this journal entry by a "FroYo" shop in the basement area of the Radisson Blu Scandinavia in Oslo, Norway, I cannot help but find myself residing in the latter arena of the aforementioned spectrum. As with any extended excursion filled with excitement and novelty, my task of delineating this past week in full will be all but impossible, but I will put forth my best effort in undertaking this mission, regardless of its rigor.
These past seven days mark my second trip to Europe, both within the last three weeks and within my entire lifetime. Nearly one month ago, my great friend Sydney Wolfson and I agreed to be travel partners for the first week of Hebrew U's two-week long Passover break. For some time now, I have desired to lay gaze upon the Western European cities that had only been real to me through pictures, anecdotes, and legends. Places like Rome, Madrid, and Berlin were once fairy tale lands accessible only through my prosthetic eyes or my own imagination, but with the prospect of Passover break looming in the not-so-far-off distance, Paris was the victor city that dominated my thoughts above all others.
Studying at Hebrew U is only part deux of Sydney's study abroad extravaganza, as she had the pleasure of spending a semester long holiday in London during the prelude to her Jerusalem occupancy. Because travel is so very expedient throughout Europe, Sydney came upon the great fortune of filling up her passport book, as she had visited twelve countries during her stay in the UK. Having journeyed to such an array of nations, there were few Euro-lands that she had not yet graced, Norway being one of the most curious. As long as I would be able to set my feet upon the streets of Paris, I was content to visit any place else. Here, we settled on three days in Paris and three days in Oslo before we would return back to the Land of Jacob for our first Pesach seder experience in Jerusalem.
For the benefit of the economics of time, I will fail to discuss our scene at the airport or our connecting flights from Ben-Gurion to Charles De Gaulle, other than that I was very pleased to pick up a Socrates bookmark at the airport in Greece, our intermediate destination, and then proceeded to listen to a certain Jay-Z and Kanye West song on replay during our flight to Eiffel's city.
We did not arrive in France until late at night, 10:00 PM or so, and so once we rode the metro to our hotel, we dropped our bags off and strolled the streets for a short period of time, stopping only at a local bar to make cheers over a glass of wine. It pains me that the particular type of wine escapes my memory, other than that it was white, but I must remark that it was the greatest glass of fermented grape that had ever crossed my taste buds.
I had set my alarm for 8:30 AM the next morning, but once I awoke, I wished to snooze for another fifteen minutes. But alas, I slept right through the next alarm and awoke in a frenzy around 10:15 PM. Showering as quickly as possible, I ran downstairs to rush through a fast breakfast, and then Sydney and I ventured into the great city of Paris. Of course, everything worked out fine, as it always does, but for a solid few hours I nagged her to get a move on while we walked around, worrying that my agenda would not be fulfilled. As Sydney has evolved into an expert traveler, she assured me, a novice, that all would be well, though it would be a few hours before my apprehension subsided.
Our hotel deserves at least a sentence or two to itself, as it was certainly unique. It was a symbol of modernity, with its brightly colored, sharply defined shapes decorating each piece of furniture, and mattresses resting on top of the floor in a room that was pretty compact. This hotel, named Hi-Matic, was only a short walk to the Bastille, where there was a metro stop that we grew quite familiar with. I have few disappointments related to my days in Paris, but the Bastille was one of them. I was expecting to see a grand palace, and maybe even some dried blood belonging to Marie Antoinette. But my knowledge of French history betrayed my better senses, as the castle there is no more, and only a monument can be found there to mark its place. Nor was there any cake for us to eat.
We passed the Bastille and the Opera House, which, with its large, tinted, round glass windows and cutting-edge architecture was another sight to behold. Eventually we made our way to the Seine River, another piece of eye candy. All along the river, malls of carts set up shop, some offering used books, others souvenirs. I came across one vendor who tended to four or five adjacent carts each stacked with rows of used books written in French. My eyes scanned through the library in search of Descartes, Voltaire, and Derrida. At last, I successfully found a hardcover edition containing volumes of Voltaire's work, and I purchased the treasure. If I may be candid, Candide was a grand prize of the trip and will serve as an exquisite addition to my personal library.
After my big buy, we found the Jardin des Plantes, a beautiful garden rich with colorful flora, delightfully decorated with bright blues, greens, pinks, and purples. As luck would have it, the garden fed into the entrance to a zoo, which we did not saunter into. However, just outside the entrance, we were given a taste of the zoo in the form of a little wallaby habitat. In this modern life, the apparent French-Australian alliance proved very favorable to us amateur zoologists.
Next we set our eyes upon the great Notre Dame. This thousand year old church was truly a gem of the trip. Upon admission, one happens upon stairs, stairs, and more stairs! A seemingly infinite tube extends upwards to the sky, and inside, patrons are forced to ascend the longest, steepest staircase that my legs have ever conquered. But once the vertical trek is completed, one of the city's most glorious treats awaits the climber. We were able to circle around the top area of the building, spying each gargoyle with precise watch. These monstrous statues, each with its own unique characteristics and intricacies, were everything I hoped they would be, at least according to my preconception of the edifice established by Disney animation. From atop the Notre Dame, you have a scope of Paris second to no other, except for maybe the very tiptop of the Eiffel tower, and even then only on the clearest of days. We continued our ascent up the building until we reached the bell tower. The size of the bell itself rivaled that of our hotel room, which certainly does leave a curious hole in the plot of Disney's movie, as Barry Bonds in his heyday would have trouble moving the thing an inch, let alone any hunchback.
After descending the staircase, we continued to stroll over to the Louvre area, but did not go inside. Sydney had already done the Louvre on a previous visit, and so she did not want to go again. I planned to do it the next day when my friends Emma and Emily arrived in town. About 100 meters (yes I'm describing distance with the metric sysem) from the Louvre is where the Tuileries Garden is located. Again, I was half-disappointed by the site. It isn't that the garden isn't a nice place for a walk, but my expectations of both the size of the garden and diversity of plant life there were not quite met. But it was surely a nice stroll.
Just outside of the Tuileries was a quaint and inviting museum which was holding an art exhibit devoted to the portrayal of animals throughout history. This fauna display was a proper sequel to the flora we had just walked through. We learned about which animals represented various concepts to different historical civilizations and how their perceptions transformed through art over the course of time.
After exiting this beastly place, we continued down the street and eventually ran into where much of Paris' action occurs, an avenue called Champs-Elysees. On this magnificent promenade, one can find some of the world's most heralded boutiques alongside a slew of high-class eateries. This is where the whos-who of the world cloth themselves, and I couldn't help but be reminded of the main street in Prague where the Guccis and the Pradas of the world made themselves at home. Champs-Elysees then feeds into the Arc de Triomphe, another wondrous spectacle.
From there, we set out for the Eiffel Tower. In the daylight, one can recognize the greatness of the structure, though if I may be franc, it is not all that it is built up to be. In fact, although I certainly cannot evade my own bias, I will support the argument that Ferris and his wheel out-Eiffeled Eiffel and his tower (See Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson if you don't get the reference).
After leaving the Eiffel Tower area, we sat down at a nearby restaurant for our first taste of the esteemed French cuisine. Although it was quite chilly, we sat outside for dinner as there was no available seating inside. This was no matter as it gave me the opportunity to enjoy a Cuban cigar over a refreshing glass of wine as we awaited our main course. My mouth watered as the waiter brough out my meal, steak & frites, which I ended up each subsequent day we were there.
Our dinner eventually came to a halt, and we walked back towards the Eiffel Tower area. The difference in aesthetics between the tower during the day and at night is day and night. It does its best Jekyll and Hyde impression. Every meter of metal is brightly lit, and the scene that it gives off is truly something to marvel over. I stood there, awestruck for a few minutes, until I remembered how frigid the air had become. Then we proceeded to take the metro back to our hotel where we would call it a night.
The next day proved to be as wonderful as the last. I set my alarm early again and actually awoke on time. Filled with excitement, I showered and had a quick bite to eat before I raced outside to meet up with Emma and Emily for our museum day. For one reason or another, seeing friends who you are not traveling with, in another country, is incredibly exciting, even if you saw them two days before and have spent the last three months with them. After catching sight of each other, we exchanged warm embraces and then took the metro to the Louvre.
As we came back up to Earth, we took a few minutes to internalize our surroundings. The iconic glass pyramid that occupies the central area outside the Louvre laid just meters (I'll stop soon, I promise) ahead of our eyes. Thousands of people congregated within this region, most waiting to pass through the gates of the museum, others content to bask in the open air. Our goal was to enter the place as quickly as possible, but our hopes were temporarily trampled by the seemingly eternal queue of people that waited in line before us. We had heard of a tale, an urban legend if you will, of a side entrance where the line paled in comparison to the traditional one we had passed over. For fifteen minutes, we paced up and down the side of the museum in search of this mythical passage, stopping now and then to probe at the oncoming passers-by in hopes that they could shed any insight to the whereabouts of these hidden doors. After many failed queries, we decided that our efforts were futile and instead went over to the Museum d'Orsay, which was only a hop, skip, and a jump away.
The d'Orsay is different from the Louvre in many a way. Whereas one feels as though the inside walls of the Louvre support a never-ending labyrinth, the d'Orsay is quite navigable, and all of the riches within the museum can be viewed within a day's time. It is quite manageable. And while the artists and their masterpieces that fall within the d'Orsay are equally venerable to those in the Louvre, the art on the walls within the d'Orsay, dear I say, is more beautiful, and certainly more uplifting. The line to enter the d'Orsay was probably about one third the length of the one we had just dismissed, and once inside, we feasted upon all that our eyes could see. Most artwork in the museum comes from the hands of Impressionists such as Renoir, Cezanne, Monet, and Degas, but the first impression made on me was the stunning ceiling that stretched over the vast space before us. I was quite impressed. The immense arch over our heads was outlined by delicate lines of gold interspersed with rich greens and plates of clear glass.
We passed along the halls of the museum, gazing at the work of masterminds. Each landscape, each portrait deserved its own course. Where was the artist when he painted this? What experiences led to the production of this image? How does one create such bright, animated colors as the ones imprinted on the canvas? I may take an art history class next year in an attempt to answer these questions. Until then, I will accept the mystery that each painting carries, a crypt that I cannot yet decode.
We spent considerable time in the d’Orsay before our stomachs demanded that we exit that wonderful place. The three of us then found a nearby café, and enjoyed a nice lunch, myself again relishing over the domestic delicacy, steak and frites. Before long, the sustenance had been consumed and we hurried back to the Louvre, hoping that the line from hours before had died down.
There are moments in life when, by sheer chance, you stumble upon some unfathomable wealth. It is completely unforeseen and strikes you dumb. On this day, we had one of those moments. On our way back from lunch, we passed through an archway outside the Louvre. There, roughly ten people stood conjoined in single file. We peeked through the door they were entering through and peered at a side room of the museum. Without thinking twice, we followed these people through the door. Inside, a security unit was set up and a conveyor belt drew backpacks. We had not crossed home plate just yet. But when the girls reunited with their handbags and we walked up some steps and gazed at thirty foot murals (there, back to US measurements), we knew we were scot-free. It took a few moments to internalize the inexplicable fortune that we had just met. The mythical entrance did exist, and it had found us! This was one of those occasions where we were in such shock that we were at a loss for words. Communicating in the only way we knew how, we laughed hysterically for five minutes, only quelling our hysteria to ask each other from time to time if that really just happened.
Not only did we enter into the Louvre in a matter of seconds, but our entry point happened to be within rooms of the Mona Lisa. On our way there, we passed by hundreds, maybe thousands of Christ-inspired paintings, each covering the square footage of a mid-sized swimming pool. The imagery and colors were dark, and in comparison to the ones we had just viewed in the d’Orsay, almost depressing. Still, I delighted in witnessing all that lay before my eyes.
Our next move, of course, was to Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. This little face on the wall may very well be the most famous piece of artwork that exists in the world today, and I was ecstatic to take a picture with such a revered woman. My favorite part of seeing the Mona Lisa was not actually seeing the Mona Lisa, but rather becoming one with the circus of tourists that congregated in a frenetic mob in order to have the best possible look into the eyes that follow you.
After bidding Mona adieu, we spent another few hours in that amazing maze of a museum, stopping for significant visits to both the ancient Egypt and ancient Greece exhibits. It wasn’t before long that our legs gave out, and we agreed to call it a day. Earlier in the day, Emily and I had discussed the prospects of seeing an opera or a concert later on in the night, and so after going our separate ways, I sat down at the public iPad in the hotel lobby to search for show times.
I found a great attraction, a Bach concert on Champs-Elysees taking place at 8:00 PM. Emily and I met up by the Bastille at 7:15 that evening, and we headed toward the concert. Once on the street, we tried in vain to secure proper directions and walked aimlessly in every which way on a quest for the concert hall. But our efforts were for naught, and when the clock struck 7:55 PM, we shed our previous arrangements and settled for plan B, which was not a bad consolation prize. We would have dinner on a side street and afterwards have a nice, long stroll up and down the avenue til nearly midnight.
The next day was the most crazed of the trip, as we ran from one place to another, knowing our time was limited before we would have to leave Paris at night. Sydney and I, reunited once more, had made lunch reservations at a high-class bistro near the Eiffel Tower named La Fontaine de Mars. We started out the meal with a delectable glass of Champagne, again some of the finest I’ve ever had. For her aperitif, Sydney ordered escargot. Though I would never put snail on my fork, I must relent that it appeared quite appetizing. I again had a nice steak, the best one I had during my time in France and one of the best I have ever tasted. I washed it all down with a cup of espresso for dessert. One of the more disappointing things about my time in France was the ubiquity of Lavazza coffee. It’s not that Lavazza is bad, on the contrary, it is actually pretty decent. But it is like the “Dunkin’ Donuts coffee” of Europe, we get it here in Israel, too. But since I am a coffee fiend, and somewhat of a snob, I was really looking forward to authentic French coffee. Well, my wish was granted at La Fontaine, and I enjoyed the best cup of coffee I had during the trip. It was a lunch chock full of bests.
We were set to leave for Norway at 8:00 PM, but still had visits to the Sacre Cour church and the Jewish Quarter left on our to-do list. We rushed to the Sacre Cour, which resided on the complete opposite side of town. Once there, we were left breathless, partly because the stunning interior design of the church left us taken aback, but more so because the steps leading up to the church were quite steep, and there were many of them.
We quickly exited that area en route to the Jewish Quarter. There were three reasons that I really wanted to see the Jewish Quarter: 1) just to see what it was like, 2) to pick up a bottle of kosher French wine to bring to my Pesach Seder, and 3) because we had been told that possibly the best falafel sandwich in the world was made there. We ran up and down many streets in search of this place, but in the end, we were unable to find it before we were forced to return to our hotel to grab our bags and head to the airport.
My final remarks on Paris are that Eiffel’s city is an eye-full, and I louvred every minute of my time spent there. I ate world-class pastries, drank fine wine, and even managed to shed some poundage by climbing multiple stairways to heaven.
We didn’t arrive at our hotel in Norway til nearly midnight, and once there, we immediately passed out. Our place of stay in Oslo was the Radisson Blu Scandinavia. It was a nice hotel equipped with a gym and a pool (of which, I utilized both), a great view of the city, and a friendly and helpful staff. But the greatest feature of the hotel was the complimentary breakfast buffet that they offered. Not only was it great that the food was free, but it was also tasty and there was an abundance of it. Each morning, I stuffed my face with cereals, roasted and raw veggies, cheeses, nuts, toast, and dried and fresh fruit. Each table came with its own pot of coffee, and newspapers were available to provide company if need be. One reason why this breakfast was such a luxury is because Oslo is the most expensive city in the world, and I do not speak in hyperbole when I say that. You can’t get a decent meal anywhere there for under $20.00. So eating such a big, free meal saved us from mid-day hunger until we desired a late lunch/ early dinner.
During our first full day in Oslo, we visited the cultural museum, walked up to the Royal Palace, took a stroll through Karl Johan’s Gate (the main commercial street in the city), toured the Opera house inside and out, walked along the sea, and ventured into City Hall. Their city hall was a beautiful building with large meeting rooms decorated by majestic furniture and giant murals. But my favorite thing we that day was tour the Nobel Peace Museum. There, each individual winner of the prize was honored, but they gave special recognition to the last three people to win the prize, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf, Leymah Gbowee, and Tawakkol Karman, all African and Middle Eastern women and political leaders of their countries who have worked to transform the role women and other oppressed people play in their respective countries and the lands surrounding them.
Before I forget, I must add that I happened to meet two Israelis in Oslo that day. One was originally from Tel Aviv and sought refuge in Norway thirty-some years ago in order to dodge the I.D.F. The other was our concierge named Yehuda.
The next day, we were busy once more, first venturing to the Munch museum, dedicated to the life’s work of Norwegian artist Edvard Munch. If you are not familiar with Munch, as I had not been before my European journey, you have still most likely been acquainted with his most famous work, The Scream. Seeing this picture that I have seen in so many other places, in so many other contexts, in its authentic version, was yet another highlight. The thought I had seen both The Mona Lisa and The Scream within days of each other was delightful. What a life!
Afterwards, we bused over to the other side of town and made our way into the Viking Ship museum. There, they have on display three well preserved Viking ships and many other artifacts utilized by those monstrous mariners who date back to 800 A.D. After learning more about the history behind Adrian Peterson’s franchise, we walked over to the most delightful of cafes. The area we were in struck me as nearly identical to downtown Long Grove, a town by where I used to live which is arranged like a quaint, historic rural village with friendly people, great food, and gorgeous scenery. Our food was delicious; I had a very nice couscous, Sydney the house fish. Afterwards, we chatted over their apple strudel before journeying back to our hotel.
During the Easter season, many of Oslo’s residents retreat to the mountains for a week of skiing. Since we were there during the Easter season, the town was half deserted. This was actually a nice feature during the day, but it definitely put a damper on nightlife. Without much to do at night, we decided to see a movie, American Reunion, the last installment in the American Pie saga. These movies helped define my adolescence, and so seeing the series wrapped up brought back similar feelings to those produced at the finale of the last Harry Potter movie last summer. Nonetheless, it was a very funny movie. What wasn’t funny was the dent it put in my wallet. A medium popcorn, a small drink, and a movie ticket ran me 30 bucks. I loved my time in Oslo, but I swear if I spent another day there I would have gone bankrupt.
The next day was very low-key. Much of it was spent walking around town with a Ben & Jerry’s ice cream cone and seeing parts we had yet to see. We departed from our hotel at 6:00 PM and made it back to Tel Aviv at 4:00 AM. As I sit here and conclude this blog entry, I am obviously no longer in the basement of the Radisson Blu. Actually I’m on a bus to Eilat. My first Pesach seder in Jerusalem has come and gone, and a very exciting week lies ahead. For time purposes, I will expound upon Passover in next week’s post.
Until then, Chag Sameach!
Zac
